


Unrighteous

by SnowyWolff



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, False Accusations, M/M, Magic, Sort Of, Starting Over, Wizard AU, only tagging characters that actually speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 15:57:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17728283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowyWolff/pseuds/SnowyWolff
Summary: Lovino has been unrighteously charged for crimes he did not commit and has been sent to teach at a remote northern Magical College. There, he meets Antonio, who makes the never-ending cold a little warmer.





	Unrighteous

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially meant for the Spamano Zine, but got way out of hand and I got too attached to cut stuff out, so I decided to write something else instead and expand on this world here.
> 
> Names:  
> Emma Peeters - Belgium  
> Mikkel Sørensen - Denmark  
> Angélique Laporte - Seychelles  
> Hedvika Kopecká - Czech Republic  
> Cyril Pokorny - Slovakia

~ I ~

The wind rattled the cart, a howling menace just barely held back by the flimsy canvas surrounding Lovino’s temporary prison.

He lay sprawled on his back, eyes unfocused. Exhaustion of days of nonstop travel, of being treated like a common criminal while innocent, was pressing down on him, but he no longer felt like sleeping. He hadn’t felt like sleeping after waking up the first night and finding himself still very much on the way north, still very much locked in.

It had truly settled in by now, that he had been rejected and discarded, been silenced and cast away. All his hard work, the years he had spent in social isolation, trying to be the best of the best for his family’s honour, wasted. His aspirations plunged down the drain—body, mind and soul punished for a crime he did not commit.

The anger had left him by now, chucked away with his rings, his shoes and his dignity into the College Lake. All he had left now was bitter resentment toward the Council and the chilling loneliness in a vow of silence he could never even begin to break.

Xiaronna Magical College, the most prestigious and powerful of all Colleges, had revoked his titles, his opportunities, his _life_. All to save the face of an Ancienne, some old fart with too much wealth and thus power. It was, after all, much easier to blame it on the eldest Vargas son, who had happened to walk in on the scene, who could be vowed to silence and stashed away without too much resistance from his highly prestigious family.

And where to better hide unwanted scapegoats than in Yerldame, the northernmost College known for its small student body, with its only road snowed close for most of the year and little to none outsider attention.

The Council had effectively erased Lovino from the public.

He groaned and rolled onto his side, the cheap fur of his ill-fitted winter cloak scratching his cheek. There was nothing he could have done to save himself from his fate, not when even his own grandfather had accepted the accusations with a disappointed scowl.

The cart jolted and the wind was replaced by the dull echo of hooves on cobblestone.

 

~ II ~

Lovino wondered what exactly the Council had told the faculty at Yerldame. He doubted they had gone into detail on his so called ‘crimes’, simply because they had _needed_ him gone and there was no way the College would have accepted him on had they known about the potential threat of black magic.

Not that there was anything dangerous about black magic, Lovino had done enough research to know that it wasn’t what the Council made it out to be, as dark and light magic were two sides of the same coin, neither inherently good or evil, simply based off of the wielder’s ancient heritage. Yet, due to the Council’s overwhelming preference toward light magic wielders, combed out through millenniums of discrimination, dark magic had been penalized and punished, nearly wiped out completely by the turn of the century.

No, the faculty did not know Lovino’s charges, but they weren’t stupid. No one came to Yerldame for a change of scenery, and with Vargas being a very well-known name, it didn’t surprise Lovino all that much when the meeting broke into an argument.

“We don’t have to keep taking Xiaronna’s criminals,” Arthur Kirkland said, slamming his hand on the table, shooting Lovino a narrow glance.

Lovino returned it, if only because the vow prevented him from rebuking it verbally.

Iryna Chernenko sighed. As headmistress she must be doing it a lot. “This is not a discussion, Arthur.”

“Doesn’t he have a point, though?” Antonio Fernández said, leaning back in his chair. “We teach children. We don’t even know why Xiaronna sent him here.”

“Eh, does it matter?” Gilbert Beilschmidt said dismissively. “Even if he was condemned of, let’s say, black magic, the Council ensures restrictions on his magic. He wouldn’t be able to do anything.”

“Besides, his credentials are impressive, no matter how former they currently are,” Erzsébet Héderváry added, tapping the parchment in front of her. “It would be nice to go a year without potion-related accidents.”

Kirkland flushed, but sat back down in his chair with a huff. “I would think morality outweighs credentials.”

“I’m not morally bankrupt,” Lovino said, hating that he couldn’t outright deny their accusations. “There were circumstances outside of my control. I’m a teacher first and foremost.”

There were murmurs around the room, but no one outrightly challenged him. It would be stupid to anyway. If they figured he was a criminal, then they should know that he was bound to silence in some form. Xiaronna preferred to be thorough and secretive like that.

He caught Iryna smiling at him from the corner of his eye.

“Good. That’s settled then,” she said. “Let’s move on to the next issue on the agenda. Erzsébet, if you will.”

 

~ III ~

Lovino had brought seeds in his hastily packed trunks. He had no clue what stock Yerldame offered, but he didn’t want to arrive there to find no Bell’s Root or Dnemerim as replacement ingredients in a lot of recipes, making them easier and less time-consuming. They were rare, southern plants and Lovino figured that the College could hardly say no to such an offer.

Too bad the master of the greenhouses was Professor Fernández.

“What?” he asked, turning to the doorway. “Oh, it’s you. What do you need, Vargas?”

Lovino tried not to make it too obvious he was finally thawing in the sweltering greenhouses and said, “I have some seeds you might be interested in.”

Fernández glanced around the overfilled greenhouse. “Why? Don’t think we’re as stocked as Xiaronna?”

Lovino gritted his teeth. “No. I just thought you might appreciate some southern plants.”

There was an uncomfortable silence as Fernández walked toward him and held out his hand for the seed packets. Lovino hoped his hands weren’t trembling still as he fished them from his pockets. Fernández hummed as he read, glancing up at Lovino curiously.

“I don’t think our students need to know any recipes with any of these. I should know; I took over for a year,” he said.

“They’re replacements.”

“They require a lot of special care.” Fernández walked away, clearly dismissing Lovino, but Lovino hadn’t been born and raised a Vargas to be dismissed and followed after him.

“Surely it would be worth to invest in them? They—” Lovino ducked around a large bush he recognized as labelled Not Friendly. “They’re replacements that make it so much easier for students.”

“Only if they end up living in the south,” Fernández replied, dropping the packets on his desk. “And not many will. Born and bred northerners often stay northern.”

Lovino frowned. He would like to be anywhere but north, but then again, most people had proper winter clothes and a will of their own.

“Right.”

Fernández gave him a long look when Lovino didn’t immediately head back toward the door and brave the winter storm. “Anything else?”

Lovino probably should ask for advice because Fernández was the only other southerner within the faculty. He should know about adapting to the harsh conditions of the north, but Lovino’s pride prevented him from asking. There was something mildly condescending in the way Fernández treated him and Lovino had had quite enough of that in his life already, thank you very much.

“No, nothing. Good day.” Lovino turned on his heel and marched out, unheeding of the green eyes taking in his flimsy cloak and gloveless hands.

 

~ IV ~

Lovino was seriously developing a hatred for faculty meetings. He sat in his chair, notes in front of him, the temptation to rip them to shreds in frustration becoming more tantalizing by the second as Kirkland, Beilschmidt, Edelstein and Bonnefoy discussed his past and his papers and his trial like he wasn’t sitting _right there_.

It seemed Iryna felt the same, however, scowling, actually _scowling_ , at the men, lips thin. Héderváry, Peeters, Sørensen and Laurinaitis had a similar attitude and had, at some point, raised objections against this blatant bashing, but had been silenced by the accusations. Oxenstierna and Arlovskaya had been quiet throughout. Fernández had the strangest expression on his face, but Lovino couldn’t figure out its meaning for the life of him.

“Necromancy.” Edelstein pointed at Lovino. “A man committed of _necromancy_ is teaching young children.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t been locked away,” Bonnefoy said, throwing a furtive glance in Lovino’s direction. “Or executed.”

“He’s a Vargas. No way can they allow such disgrace,” Beilschmidt said indifferently. He leaned on the table, gaining a near devious edge to his smile. “What interests me, is that everything I’ve ever heard of Lovino Vargas is nothing but commendable, even if his temper leaves something to be desired. And he’s been sitting here, listening to us jabber about his case, making assumptions, all silent.”

The whole table turned to Lovino, who in turn glowered at the smug smile Beilschmidt sent his way. When an answer was clearly expected of him, but his voice refused to cooperate in any form in response to such direct address, he glanced away and gestured dismissively.

The silence was heavy and suffocating, but then Iryna cleared her throat and said, so much sharper than she normally spoke, “All right. Can we move on to actual meeting matters now or should we indulge on anyone else’s permanent record?”

There was a murmur around the table, papers rustling and chairs creaking until Laurinaitis began with questions on renewing the east wing.

Lovino couldn’t bear to look anyone in the eye, so he carefully focused back on his notes. He could feel a headache coming in, a side-effect of the vow, and he had kept from the time-consuming process of brewing a relief potion because without Dnemerim it took over a week to boil, but he was seriously tempted by now.

Next to him, Oxenstierna reached underneath the table, took something from his bag and tapped a small box against Lovino’s hand. Lovino glanced at him, down at the box, back at Oxenstierna.

“Headache,” he muttered, drowned out by Sørensen excitedly slamming his hand against the table.

Not wanting to read too much into it, Lovino mumbled his thanks and took a pill, meeting Fernández’s eyes from across the table as he drank from his glass.

They were clear, and green, and much kinder than they had been the previous weeks.

Lovino narrowed his eyes and turned to the brewing discussion between Sørensen and Kirkland, hoping that maybe, now that they had all read up on him, the next meeting could begin without digressions.

 

~ V ~

Lovino had never before in his life felt as miserable as he did that day. He was both too hot and too cold, he couldn't stop sniffling, his brain felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton, the world sometimes went too fast and his limbs would act too slowly.

He had papers to grade though. Papers to grade, lectures to prepare, classes to give, so he powered through. Or tried to.

The morning went fine. The students gave him a handful of worried glances, and a couple of concerned comments which were appreciated but waved off. Lovino was _fine_. A little illness hadn't stopped him before at Xiaronna and he refused to have some stupid cold break his perfect record.

He refused even further when he actually caught a worried glance from Fernández, which was almost insulting honestly, and he huffed indignantly, stomping back to his office. It gave him a headache, sure, but the exasperated sigh was worth it. Even if the room spun, and the fire crackled and Lovino had left the window open and he _couldn't think_.

An hour later, when the ceiling no longer danced like the women at the Fall Festival at Xiaronna, Lovino dragged himself behind his desk and forced himself through thick, swimming words.

He missed the knock on his door, hardly even noticed Fernández slipping inside until his chair was forcibly slid back and the man stepped in the space between the desk and Lovino.

“You know,” Fernández said as he pressed a hand against Lovino’s forehead, and it must have been really telling when Lovino didn't even attempt to swat him away, “there is such a thing as overdoing it.”

Lovino attempted to glare. It just made his head hurt more, so he dropped it quickly. “I'm fine.”

“That's what I said too when Francis found me passed out in my classroom after I just got here.” Fernández dropped his hand to Lovino’s knee. “This isn't Xiaronna, Lovino. We're allowed sick days. And you definitely need one.”

“Oh, shut up.” Lovino pushed him away and stood, ignoring how bad of an idea that was. He breathed deeply, closed his eyes momentarily, met Fernández’s unwavering stare. “What do you know?”

Fernández had the audacity to laugh. “You're not Xiaronna’s only reject, Vargas. I heard about you too. Romulus’ grandson. Must have been a great pressure to keep performing well at all times.”

“You know nothing,” Lovino hissed.

“Don't I?” Fernández grabbed the hand that Lovino had half-heartedly put up between them. “I know what it's like to be cast out. I know how terrible winter is up here. I know that they don't give you a chance to prepare for here.”

Lovino stared at their hands, didn't say anything as Fernández lead him to his adjunct chambers, was silently immensely thankful someone forced him to take it easy.

“Rest,” Fernández ordered. “I can check those essays for you, honestly. I used to give occasional classes on potions before.”

There was a moment where they both just looked at each other. There were a thousand things that wanted to roll off of Lovino’s tongue. Things such as, but not limited to, ‘How dare you be so presumptions about _my_ life,’ and ‘Don't touch my papers because I'll just have to check them again, my dignity can't take it,’ but eventually he just muttered a soft, “Thanks,” and shooed Fernández from his chambers.

When Lovino woke later, which turned out to be a _lot_ later, he did feel distinctly better. He still felt slow and off, but it appeared as if the worst had passed. Lovino had a sneaking suspicion magic had been involved, and it was confirmed when he walked into his office.

Fernández sat in front of the fire, two piles of essays on either side of him, scribbling away at another on his lap. He glanced up when he heard the rustle of Lovino’s robes.

It was strange, Lovino thought. Fernández had made it abundantly clear he hadn't wanted anything to do with Lovino, from the very first moment he had been introduced to the faculty.

“I don't understand you,” Lovino said bluntly.

“That happens when you don't talk to people,” Fernández replied. He dropped the essay to the ground and stood, stretching.

Lovino narrowed his eyes. “Oh, I do apologize. I haven't particularly received a warm welcome so I had to wonder whether it was _allowed_.”

“Well, you do have some, ah, interesting charges.”

‘Unrighteously,’ ‘wrongfully,’ and ‘undeservedly’ were all words that bubbled to the surface. Lovino swallowed them, feeling the cord constrict his voice.

“Right, well.” Lovino cleared his throat. “It's not like I can change the past.”

Lovino didn't like the calculating stare Fernández sent his way, so he pointed to the door and said, “You can leave now.”

Fernández laughed. “You are tough to please, Professor Vargas.”

Lovino could feel his ears flush. “Yes. I'm a harsh grader too. Of which I have more to do. So out, Professor Fernández.”

“What? And abandon my work halfway through? You might gain a bad impression of me.”

They stared at each other.

Lovino found it meaningful to ask, “What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

Fernández just smiled, took Lovino’s hand and shook it. “I'm Antonio and I figured you and I have a lot more in common than we're allowed to say.”

“Out,” Lovino said and added slowly, “Fernández.”

He brushed a hand through his hair as the other ducked out of the room, laughing. Waiting until the door closed behind Antonio, he fell into the vacated chair by the fire and picked up the essay Antonio had been working on, trying not to dwell too long on what exactly had just occurred between them.

 

~ VI ~

With new year came spring, which brought more snow and ice and cold, but also a change in atmosphere.

Antonio showed up more and more often in Lovino’s office, always sitting on top of Lovino’s desk if he was working and spouting nonsense as if the first couple of months hadn’t happened at all. It was slightly unsettling, mainly because Lovino was used to the endless silence of hours of studying in a library where the loudest thing was someone turning a page.

Antonio could relate to that too. He told Lovino about his days as a student, graduated after Lovino had and not nearly as ambitious as Lovino had been, but he never went into detail as to why he was at Yerldame. Lovino could see him struggle, knew the same vow afflicted Antonio, and steered away to safer territories, for them both.

So they spoke of how Antonio found his place at Yerldame, how he had made the greenhouses bloom and flourish after the old professor had retired five years earlier. They spoke of his family, how they had always been supportive, even after the incident, how his sister continued to send him letters and gifts and little mementos of their home.

And slowly, very slowly, Lovino began to open up as well, speaking about the things he had hidden away in the recesses of his mind and heart, the things he had never been allowed to admit to loving to do, like reading novels instead of research books or hiking around the campus without an excuse to look for flora.

Antonio took those things to heart and the following weeks Lovino’s bookcase went from three tomes and empty vials and bottles, to almost full, though where Antonio got the books from was a mystery to Lovino. Antonio also occasionally dragged him out of the sanctity of his furs and blankets, through the thick snow, on all kinds of hikes around the huge grounds, where their arms would brush and Antonio would smile and maybe Lovino would too.

Then, Erzsébet stopped by his office one freezing afternoon. She dragged a chair next to his by the fire, crossed her legs and said, “Your research on the properties of dark magic and its controversy, I’ve just finished reading it.”

Lovino glanced up from his paperwork. He would have been proud of his thesis, had it not been the prime piece of evidence they had brought up against his case. He gave her a tired look. “Does it prove of my dubious morality?”

“It proves that you’re highly intelligent and you would have gone places had they kept you at Xiaronna.” Erzsébet paused. “I thought it was an incredible read.”

“Thank you. I had hoped to go places.” Lovino hadn’t intended for it to come out as bitter as it had, but it caused Erzsébet to lean closer.

“I mean, you did go somewhere,” she teased. “And even if it isn’t where you wanted to be, I hope you can come to appreciate it here too. The students surely do. A lot less failed experiments, you see.”

Lovino snorted. “The stories the students tell me astound me. Kirkland can’t really have melted a copper pot while brewing a hiccoughing drought.”

“Oh, he did,” Erzsébet said, eyes distant. “It was a day for the records. Gilbert accidentally caught a bookcase on fire and Antonio managed to turn a cleaning potion so acidic that when he dropped it, a hole was burned through the stone. We had to rearrange the classroom to cover it up.”

That explained the discoloured brick around the iron ingredient cabinets, as well as the strange position of his heavy teacher’s desk then.

“Ah.” Lovino bowed back over the essay he was marking, jotting down some comments on the student’s use of repetitive language.

Erzsébet waited until he no longer had a quill pressed against the parchment before she said, “Antonio mentioned you had wanted to ask for better clothes, as you weren’t given much time to prepare.”

It was a good choice on her part because Lovino somehow still managed to startle and push over the jar of ink by his elbow. He stared as the black spill spread on the ancient rug.

“Oh. Yes. I guess,” he muttered, standing up to scour his shelves for a cleaning potion. He poured it over the spill, wishing he could clean his record as easily as that as well.

Erzsébet said nothing, but she clasped his arm comfortingly and left.

A week later a whole trunk of winter clothes was delivered to his chambers, with a fuzzy warm cloak and thick fuzzy gloves, and Lovino made sure to thank Erzsébet for her kindness as well as kick Antonio in the shins on his way to class for being nosey, hiding a smile behind his hand as he ducked inside.

 

~ VII ~

Lovino was talking to two of his students when Beilschmidt sauntered in.

Beilschmidt leaned against the door frame, grinned when Lovino met his eyes quickly, who then continued to ignore him in favour of answering Matthew’s questions about the sleeping draught they would have to brew for the exam next month.

When that was dealt with and Alfred dragged his brother from the room with an excited, “Bye, Professor! ‘Sup, Professor!” while Matthew threw a thank you over his shoulder, Lovino turned to Beilschmidt.

Crossing his arms, Lovino scowled. “What do you want?”

“Forgive a man for his curiosity,” Gilbert said, raisin his arms, “but you _are_ the son of Augustus, right?”

“Was that not in that snazzy trial file?” Lovino sneered.

Beilschmidt laughed. “Just checking. My dad was friends with him at Xiaronna.”

Lovino frowned. “Your dad went to Xiaronna?”

“Why do you think I'm not.” Beilschmidt winked. “He got real sick of those stuffy aristocrats and Anciennes, so he got up and left for Megenaire.”

“So, good for him, I guess. What does it matter?”

Beilschmidt sat on one of the desks, picking at his nails. “My old man told me once, about Xiaronna’s… hm, let’s call it, favouritism.”

Lovino leaned against his own desk, narrowing his eyes.

“The Anciennes, they're all about wealth and power, yes?” Beilschmidt continued, not waiting for an answer, “And the old families all about prestige and keeping face.”

“Beilschmidt,” Lovino began warningly, but Beilschmidt held up a hand.

“You see, Vargas, dad's told me of a trial that occurred while he was there, the trial of a Sadik Adnan. Ever heard of it?”

“Yes.” Everyone had. It had been one of the biggest scandals of the modern magical community, and Lovino’s father had testified against Adnan, eventually causing his arrest and execution. Lovino felt a little ill.

“Remind me of his accusations?”

“Dark magic.” Lovino’s voice caught as he said, “Necromancy.”

Beilschmidt fell finally silent as Lovino struggled for air, the vow punishing him for as much as mentioning anything to do with his own accusations.

Then there was a warm hand on his shoulder and Beilschmidt continued cheerfully, “Glad to have you here, Lovino. I think you'll find your stay slightly less torturous soon enough. The Spring Festival is fast approaching.” He gasped. “Do you know how to make ginger venderians?”

Lovino had a feeling he had just transcended some barrier and felt mildly insulted all the same.

“I'm a potions _master_ , Beilschmidt. Of course I fucking know how to make venderians.” Lovino frowned. “I'm not making alcoholic drinks for the students.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Beilschmidt said, wagging his finger. “The name is Gilbert. And it's not for the students, stupid. What a waste. No, what you wanna do, is pour them down Arthur’s throat. Once he shuts up about you, everyone else will too.”

“Why does it not surprise me Kirkland can be bought with alcohol?”

“The same way it won't surprise him you can be bought with chocolate,” Gilbert said.

Lovino’s eyebrow twitched. “Did Antonio tell you that?”

“He did not, but am I good or what?”

Lovino breathed deeply, closed his eyes, counted to ten and said, “All right. Okay. Is that all you wanted?”

Gilbert shook his head and grabbed Lovino’s arm. “Come have a drink with me, my friend. I've always found man’s true nature shows after a couple of shots.”

“Oh, joy.” Though Lovino allowed himself to be lead along the narrow stairway that lead to the west tower, a part of the castle reserved for the faculty.

Lovino genuinely expected there to be some punchline to this, literal or not. But instead Gilbert lead him to a small lounge with a warm fire and half the faculty present. Antonio rushed to meet them.

“Look what I found,” Gilbert said as he pushed Lovino into the room.

Lovino brushed off his cloak and shot Gilbert a glare. He startled when Antonio took his other arm, immediately talking as he lead him to one of the couches.

“I can't believe Gilbert actually convinced you. Did he trap you immediately after class?”

“Class ended over an hour ago,” Lovino answered, frowning as Antonio deposited him next to Emma. “I was helping students in preparation for their exams.”

“Students actually come to you with questions?” Francis asked, and Lovino didn't think it necessary to sound so surprised and shot him a sour look.

“I know, surprising, isn't it?” he said as Gilbert pushed a drink into his hands. “Boy, you'd think I'd take teaching seriously. Now, imagine that.”

Antonio snorted next to him as Francis shifted forward, clearly intrigued instead of offended.

“What Francis means to say is that clearly he can't garner the interest of his students for the life of him and he'd like some pointers,” Emma said coyly, sipping her glass.

There was laughter around the room and Erzsébet added, “We all lack that southern charm.”

Francis brushed his hair back. “It's novelty, I tell you. Give it a couple of months.”

“Or years,” Mikkel said, chuckling.

“Admit it, Francis,” Gilbert said as he fell in the chair next to him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “These southerners are beating us fair and square. First Toni comes barging in with all his fantastic plant knowledge, and now we have Lovi too, who promised to make venderians and other illicit southern drinks. Life’s not fair for us, northerners, is it?”

“I promised nothing of the sort,” Lovino mumbled into his glass as Emma elbowed him playfully.

Antonio leaned over and whispered, “You should make Gjemaros. You know you don’t reach true adulthood until a good pepper Gjemaros knocks you out.”

Lovino raised an eyebrow. “I would need some Bell’s Root for those.”

“I planted those seeds the moment you stepped out of the door, Lovi. I have been dying for some Dnemerim in my coffee.” Antonio grinned and Lovino returned a small smile with a shake of his head.

“See!” Gilbert said loudly, gesturing toward them. “Cavorting already!”

“Yes, clearly we must because you northerners lack quite a lot in beverages, we've discovered,” Lovino said dryly. “Living on wine and mead is hardly satisfying.”

“Oh ho! Count me in for that,” Mikkel said with an excited gleam. “No one holds their drink as well as I!”

“You clearly haven't met a Vargas before.” Lovino leaned forward, gesturing with his cup. “I'll drink you under the table, Sørensen.”

Erzsébet held her cup forward and said, “Cheers then, to a drunk Spring Festival!”

Clinking his cup to every else’s, Lovino couldn't say he didn't look forward to it. Not when Antonio was warm beside him, and the faculty well on its way of accepting him.

 

~ VIII ~

The faculty was taking bets. Lovino knew this. He just had to figure out on _what_.

He mentioned it to Antonio once.

Antonio had said, “What?”

So Lovino vowed to figure it out himself, even if the faculty seemed dead set on keeping it from him.

Erzsébet and Emma had smiled coyly and, instead of answering his question, had asked, “So, how are things between you and Toni, hm?”

Lovino narrowed his eyes, ducking from Erzsébet’s arm that had wound its way around his shoulders. Emma, on his other side, bumped her hips against his.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Ah, so there _is_ something,” Erzsébet said meaningfully. 

Lovino failed to see this meaning. That annoyed him, so he stomped back to his office, leaving Emma and Erzsébet giggling to themselves.

For some reason, Arthur and three students stood in front of his door, and he smoothed out his scowl to something a little kinder for the students’ sake.

“Afternoon, Lovino,” Arthur said with a small nod of his head. The Spring festival really had worked wonders in his attitude toward Lovino. “I apologize for imposing, but these students had an idea for which we’re in need of your help.”

Lovino unlocked his office with a touch of his fingers and held open the door for them. “All right then. Have a seat.”

The students fell onto the couch, excitedly whispering as they glanced around Lovino’s office. Arthur positioned himself by the large bookcase.

Lovino sat behind his desk, found one of Antonio’s cheer-up notes, shoved it underneath an old tome he had been reading and smiled at the students, who instantly quieted.

“So, what's this about then?”

“Well,” Angélique started when her two companions didn't, “since the May Dance is coming up, we, the event council, were wondering whether, well—” She fidgeted nervously.

“We heard that they have these huge dance parties at Xiaronna,” Cyril continued after clearing his throat. “With very fancy dances instead of the folk dances we do here.”

“Yes, so we were wondering whether you knew any, Professor,” Hedvika finished. “And whether you could, maybe, teach them to us?”

Lovino had been nodding along as they spoke, but paused at that. “You want to learn those stiff dances?”

Arthur hid a snort behind his hand as Angélique exclaimed, “But they look so graceful!”

Lovino pursed his lips, refraining from outrightly turning down the idea. It would be nice to see something reminiscent of Xiaronna, especially because the dances had been the few times Lovino had actually gone out of the library and enjoyed himself.

“I can't teach over six hundred students. That's physically impossible for me,” Lovino said slowly, lacing his fingers together.

Hedvika jumped up excitedly. “Ah ha! But we thought of that. The young students won't care one way or another, so we figured, why not only, oh say, those from year seven and up?”

“That's still a lot of students, Miss Kopecká.”

“Can't Professor Fernández help?” Angélique supplied hopefully.

Lovino blinked at her. “I… don't know.” He glanced at Arthur, who shrugged, and added, “I need to think this over, all right? I’ll get back to you.”

The door closed behind them after one last hopeful look from Angélique and Lovino drummed his fingers against the desk. “You’re okay with this?”

“It was their idea.” Arthur shrugged. “Even if I stayed at Xiaronna for a few years, I never did catch on to the dances.”

“Right.” Lovino sighed and stood. “Better see if Antonio is actually useful for a change.”

Arthur watched him for a moment, then said, “Lovino,” hesitated, continued after Lovino’s quizzical look, “I’m sorry.”

Lovino opened the door and gestured. “You sure? You can’t call me morally corrupt anymore if you’re serious.”

For a moment, Lovino actually thought Arthur would revoke his words as Arthur stood motionlessly, but then the other quirked a smile. “I suppose that’s a fair price to pay for—”

“Alcohol?”

“I was going to say, kindness, but I guess.”

“Ah.”

Arthur excused himself as they passed his office and Lovino headed downstairs to find Antonio speaking with Angélique, Hedvika and Cyril. Lovino stopped behind them, crossed his arms, and raised his eyebrows when Antonio met his eyes.

“I see they cornered you before I could,” Lovino said dryly as the three turned around bashfully.

Antonio grinned. “You up for a dance, Lovi?”

Lovino leisurely glanced Antonio up and down. “I didn’t know a peasant from Kyaverre could dance.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

Cyril cleared his throat. Antonio blushed. Lovino glanced at the students.

“Thinking it over,” he reminded them, and they ducked into the dining hall with barely suppressed giggles.

Antonio scratched his jaw awkwardly, glanced around quickly, then took Lovino’s arm and dragged him into the nearest storage closet. Lovino didn’t see why Antonio felt the need to do so, unless he wished to make out, which honestly made Lovino a little breathless, though Lovino actually had no clue whether Antonio would be into that. Sometimes he seemed borderline flirty, but then he’d do something that would totally ruin the mood and Lovino didn’t know what to make of it.

“So,” Lovino said.

“So,” Antonio repeated.

Lovino rolled his eyes and touched his forehead briefly. “Can you? Dance?”

“Oh, yes.” Antonio wrung his hands. “My parents wanted me to grow up sophisticated, so they had me take dance classes.”

“Good did that do.”

“Yeah, right.” Antonio laughed, and it was frankly his most awkward yet.

Lovino pressed his fingers into the skin of his arm. He watched Antonio fidget, opened his mouth to complain about whatever the fuck this was supposed to be, but promptly shut up again when Antonio reached forward and fixed the collar of his shirt.

“It was bothering me,” Antonio said airily, which Lovino wished he had as Antonio’s fingers brushed his throat.

Swallowing, Lovino took Antonio’s hand and dragged him back out of the closet, up the stairs and into his office. He tossed his cloak over the back of his chair and stood, back straight, in the opening stance of an old dance. Antonio simply stared at him for a long moment before he, too, slowly moved into the corresponding partner position.

“Show me then,” Lovino said with a nod of his head, and took the first step.

 

~ IX ~

Lovino had sneaked off at some point after the eleventh dance, tired and desperate need for some air. With the main hall, dining hall, courtyard and a large part of the sports terrain decked out for the Dance, Lovino had wound his way to the dimly lit gardens. Seating himself on a bench among the rose bushes, he tugged at his too-tight collar.

Tonight marked a year since condemnation. Once the clock struck eleven, it would be a year since he had been dragged before the high seats of the Council, his grandfather seated on the right of the Head, and told he would be spared death, but be stripped of all ranks and familial possessions and exiled to Yerldame under a vow of silence. The disappointment on his grandfather’s face was still etched into his mind’s eye.

He hadn’t thought about it much, not really. He had thrown himself into classes and teaching and anything else but the feeling of hopelessness. It had worked, to the point where he sometimes wondered whether it truly was a punishment to teach these children and young adults, but then he would glance outside, to the endless expanse of snow and ice, and he remembered he had nothing beyond the walls of Yerldame. Absolutely nothing.

“Melancholy doesn't suit you, Lovino,” Antonio said as he sat down next to him.

Lovino glanced at him, but Antonio’s eyes were set on the white roses in front of them. The wind rustled his hair, still messy despite his best efforts to comb it. He looked dashing in his bottle green robes, a simple black suit underneath.

“Funny,” Lovino said softly. “My father used to say it was all that suited me.”

Antonio sighed. He scooted a little closer, leg pressing against Lovino’s. There was a slight hesitation, but then Antonio carefully touched Lovino’s hand and, when he found no resistance, placed his on top. A warm comfort that had Lovino melt, and he dropped his head on Antonio’s shoulder.

“You know,” Lovino said, “I never thought beyond Xiaronna’s walls. It was my duty and destiny. Now that I'm here… Honestly, sometimes I'm a little lost.”

“That's okay, Lovino,” Antonio said and gave his hand a small squeeze. He smiled, Lovino could hear it in his voice as he added, “I think the world is a lot more interesting when you don't know where you're headed.”

“A little certainty is nice,” Lovino muttered, then sighed. Who was he kidding? He was fairly certain he'd never get to set a foot off campus for the remainder of his life. That much _was_ certain.

Antonio kept silent, even as Lovino withdrew from him. Brushing his fingers through his hair quickly, Lovino simply felt restless. He didn't _want_ to think these things. He didn't want to continuously remind himself of what was beyond his control.

“Well,” Antonio said and slapped his hands against his thighs before standing. He turned on his heel, grinned down at Lovino and wriggled his fingers invitingly. “Nothing we can do about the past, yes? So, let's move forward instead.”

“Haven't we danced enough yet?” Lovino asked, mildly exasperated.

“Probably.” Antonio laughed and his eyes shone brilliantly when Lovino allowed himself to pulled to his feet and into Antonio’s arms. Placing a hand on Lovino’s waist, he hummed as he lead Lovino into the first steps. “You never gave me a chance to lead before though.”

“I might have had too much wine,” Lovino defended. “Please don’t make me regret it.”

Antonio's eyes softened. “Never.”

It was a simpler waltz, but it was close and intimate, though not through its passes. Antonio kept looking at Lovino with that soft fondness, and Lovino found his fingers trailing when they weren't needed. Antonio twirled him and Lovino stepped closer, cupped his cheek.

He hesitated, realized that if he wasn't going to do it now, he would be severely pissed with himself, and kissed Antonio.

Antonio’s fingers tightened on his hips and, when Lovino moved back, chased after him, pressing his lips firmly against Lovino’s.

Lovino brushed Antonio’s hair behind his ear as the other rubbed their noses together teasingly.

“Did you regret that?” Antonio asked, smiling so widely it must have hurt.

“Oh, immensely,” Lovino said with a roll of his eyes. He took a step back, but Antonio took his hand again, resuming his earlier steps.

“Lovino.”

“Antonio,” Lovino mocked, then laughed when Antonio twirled him before he should have, enjoying the kiss that followed.

They danced until it became clear to Lovino that Antonio had forgotten the steps and just shuffled him around. He squeezed Antonio’s cheek playfully and said, “We should probably return before they'll think we've sneaked away.”

“Isn't that exactly what we've done?”

“Yes, but they don't have to know that.”

Antonio chuckled, kissed him one last time before he took Lovino’s hand and lead him back to the dance. He glanced around quickly, then leaned over to whisper, “Can I sleep over tonight?” to which Lovino smiled and nodded as Antonio brushed his lips against his cheek.

When Lovino reclaimed his seat at the faculty table, he saw Francis slip Gilbert some coins as they eyed Antonio vanishing into the crowd first before they glanced at Lovino, grinning.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Lovino said as Erzsébet sat next to him.

She raised her glass to him, winked and said, “To new relations,” which was answered by everyone present at the table.

Lovino rolled his eyes, took his cup, and clinked it to hers. “To moving forward.”

 

~ X ~

Antonio invited Lovino over to the greenhouse one late summer evening. With the students gone home, there was little to do for the faculty. Some, like Berwald and Gilbert, went home to their families, others, like Arthur and Erzsébet, travelled around, and then there were Antonio and Lovino, who _couldn't_ leave, so they figured out other ways to spend their days.

Lovino had been writing a lot. Angry words, research, an attempt to journal his experience, another attempt at breaking the vow that made his fingers cramp up when he so much as thought about the accursed Council, more angry words, and a very careful letter addressed to his brother in the hopes of regaining some contact with the outside world.

But now Antonio had wrenched him from the library and held Lovino’s hand excitedly as he lead him past all the flora to the back of the greenhouse. Then he stopped abruptly, grinned as he pressed a hand to Lovino’s chest, telling him to wait right there, and vanished around the corner.

Sighing, Lovino glanced around, recognizing many of the plants as southern, itching to use them just because they were familiar, and he probably should ask Antonio if he could because now he had _time._ He had all the goddamned time in the world without anyone to impress but himself so he could try to experiment some more like he used to at Xiaronna. Probably better too, since Yerldame’s faculty had far less problems with dark magic and Lovino wanted to _understand_ it.

Antonio returned, slipping his hand in Lovino’s as if it was nothing.

“You have to close your eyes,” Antonio said.

“Antonio—”

“Nope. No arguments.”

So, Lovino surrendered and closed his eyes. “If this is some sort of joke, don't doubt I will end you.”

Antonio laughed and took Lovino’s other hand, leading him for a couple of steps before manoeuvring behind Lovino, chest pressed against Lovino’s back, one hand in his shoulder and the other still holding Lovino’s hand.  He forced Lovino to a stop after a short while and said, “Okay, you can't laugh.”

“That's a lot to ask.”

“Lovi.”

“Honestly.” Lovino turned his head, hoped his frown was still as effective, though the short huff of laughter Antonio released indicated it was not. “Fine. Whatever. I won't laugh.”

Antonio squeezed his shoulder and walked around him. There was a rustle, and then Antonio chirped, “Now you can open them!”

Lovino did, schooling his expression into something mildly unimpressed. It was appropriate, though he could feel his eyebrow twitch too in an effort to not laugh.

“Antonio.”

“Yeah?”

“This is the cheesiest fucking thing.”

Antonio lowered the bottle of wine, glancing around the candle-lit space he had so painstakingly created, to the checkered cloth spread on the floor, surrounded by their favourite flowers.

“Too much?”

Lovino shook his head, taking the bottle from Antonio. He pressed a kiss to his cheek, grinning as Antonio flushed.

“No. Just incredibly silly.”

Antonio smiled, relieved, and ushered Lovino to sit down, explaining all the southern dishes he had made and how not all of them had turned out well, so he didn't have _everything,_ but—

To Lovino, it was more than enough.

Lovino cut off his rambling with a kiss then, squeezing his hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly, and Antonio kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me writing more vignette series because theyre fun
> 
> Comments are severely appreciated in times of uni and essays
> 
> Worldbuilding notes:  
> Xiaronna (/kziːəˈrɔnnɑ/) is a Magical College that teaches both young and old students. They're technically a middle school, high school and university in one. Though the entrance programme for the university/specialization aspect of the College is ridiculously tough and incredibly selective.  
> Yerldame (/jɛrldɑˈmɛ/) is a Magical College that only teaches young students from ages 10 to 20. Should they want to further specialize they will have to travel southeast to Megenaire (/mɛgəˈnɛr/).


End file.
